Catechism
by OpenPage
Summary: Part three of "Peeping Through the Closet Door", a series of short stories detailing Tom's journey as he comes to realize he has feelings for Dennis. Tom's curiosity gets the better of him.
1. Sealed With a Kiss

**Sealed With a Kiss**

After their heart to heart in the park, Tom managed to avoid Booker for the rest of the day. He likened his behavior to that of an obstinate child, his decision to distance himself from the man who had turned his world upside down an immature attempt at self-preservation. But buried beneath the protective shield of denial lurked an insatiable curiosity. As far as he knew, none of his friends, family or coworkers were bisexual, which somehow added to Booker's mystique. While he had _always_ known about the officer's sexual proclivities, he had never given much thought to it before. While he had never given much thought to Booker's sex life, all that had changed the moment he had found him semi-naked in his bed, smiling his entrancing smile, eyebrow arched in mock surprise. And now he had a ton of questions. Had Dennis felt an attraction to both boys _and_ girls from a young age or was there an epiphany at puberty? If so, why had it taken _him_ until the age of twenty-four to have the same impulses? It was these questions and many others that had tortured him all day. _Was_ he bisexual, or was it the allure of Booker's enigmatic personality that yanked his crank? His mind was in a whirl, and desperate for answers, he spent a good part of his day studying his male companions, looking for any signs of attraction.

First, there was Penhall. Handsome, funny, honest to a fault, he was, without a doubt, the best friend Tom had ever had. But when the young officer closed his eyes and tried to imagine kissing him, his nose wrinkled in amused disgust. The idea that they would ever get down and dirty was laughable, as well as a little disconcerting. Doug was his friend, and as much as he loved him, any thoughts of romance were just plain ludicrous.

Then there was Harry, suave, dapper Harry. The gentleness of his character stood in stark contrast to his fighting prowess. But while Tom recognized the physical appeal, there was no sexual attraction. In fact, he didn't feel anything when he looked at any of the men roaming through The Chapel's hub. Except that was a lie. When he looked at Booker...

Booker. Even the name sent a wave of desire rippling through his body. What was it about the brash, conceited officer that had him feeling so hot under the collar? Was it the faint trace of uncertainty that sometimes flickered beneath the amusement shining from his dark eyes? The gentle sway of his hips when he swaggered into a room? The sweet, yet impish grin that curled the edges of his lips? The cocky, bad-boy biker persona he had perfected to a T? The…

A wistful sigh escaped from between Tom's lips. He could sit and ponder the mysterious power of attraction for the next week and still be none the wiser. Or, he could take the bull by the horns and face his fear head-on. He needed confirmation that what he was feeling was normal, and the only way he was going to ease his troubled mind was by talking to the man who now occupied his every thought.

With his mind made up, he rose from his desk and walked over to the water cooler. Caught in the scattered daydream of his imagination, he remained unaware of the dark, penetrative gaze following him from across the room. If he had known, he would have had a better idea of just how complicated his life was about to become.

A thin veil of pollution hung over the downtown area, the sultry night air doing little to disperse the noxious haze. Opening the window leading out to the fire escape,Booker stared down at the traffic below, the heavy stench of exhaust fumes mingling with the thin line of smoke rising from the tip of his cigarette. He could feel the weight of the day's events bearing down on him, the heaviness of guilt crushing his spirit. The bitter tang of regret rose from the pit of his stomach, the acid reflux burning his throat, and desperate to eradicate the taste, he raised his cigarette to his lips and sucked in a lungful of smoke. Holding his breath, he let the nicotine work its magic before exhaling, the toxic cloud wafting through the open window in a whispery plume. He had fucked up big time, and he wasn't sure what to do to make things right. When he had tried reaching out to Tom, he had only made matters worse, and their relationship, although never close, was teetering on the brink of extinction. He was running out of time, and if he didn't put things right, he ran the risk of driving a permanent wedge between himself and the man he had a secret crush on.

Taking a last drag of his cigarette, he butted it out on the sill and flicked the filter down to the street below. Although sickened to the stomach by his actions, he had ordered a pizza in the hopes a full stomach would help him sleep. He glanced at the clock, a frown puckering his brow. Over an hour had passed since he'd phoned through his request for a large pepperoni with extra cheese, and he wondered what was causing the delay. But as if on cue, he heard a knock, and grabbing his wallet from the kitchen counter, he opened the door.

Tom stood in the corridor, shoulders hunched, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ripped jeans. To Booker, he looked like a man in need of a hug, but given their current situation, he decided that was the worst idea he could have come up with. So, instead of smothering Tom with affection, he played it cool by offering the young officer a laid-back smile. "Hey, Hanson. What's up?"

"Hey."

The emotionless greeting sent a chill through Booker's body, and stepping back from the door, he motioned his friend inside. But Tom remained immobile, his troubled eyes darting from side to side, his chin pointing toward his chest. Neither man spoke, the awkward silence fraught with unasked questions. They remained trapped within the invisible bounds of emotional vulnerability, too frightened to proceed yet too nervous to retreat. It was the classic _Mexican Standoff,_ the fear of ridicule playing a powerful role in each man's reluctance to take charge. But it didn't take long for Booker's restless nature to come to the fore. The tense muscles in his shoulders relaxed, and he addressed his friend in a soft voice. "Tom, I—"

"I want you to kiss me."

Booker's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Wh- _what?"_

Tom rubbed a nervous hand over his mouth. "Sorry, I didn't… what I mean is, I need to know if this is real."

"This?" Booker ventured, the arrhythmic _thumpity-thump-thump-thumpity-thump_ of his heart sending tremors of excitement through his body. "What exactly do you mean by _this?"_

If there was one look Tom had perfected, it was the slow, tilting smile. "This thing between you and me," he answered, the surge of adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream giving him a sudden boost in confidence. "I think there's something… there."

The light in the hallway flickered, throwing eerie shadows over the wall, the effect adding to the suspenseful atmosphere. Time stood still, the annoying sitcom laugh track blaring from the neighbor's television the only sound. But it didn't take long for Booker to find his voice. "I think you'd better come in."

Tom's heart fell out of rhythm, the fluttering beat sending tingling vibrations through his fingers and toes. He hesitated before stepping over the threshold, his face an unreadable mask. A collective sense of expectation hung between them, the invisible pulse reigniting his nervousness. He had no idea what was about to happen, but with Booker involved, he had a feeling it would be thrilling.

But his expectations were soon dashed when Booker sat on the floor, the casualness of the pose catching him off guard. He stood in the center of the room, unsure what to do with himself now that he was there. For the first time since making his decision to confront Booker face-to-face, he wondered if he'd made a mistake. Things weren't going the way he'd imagined, and he began to feel foolish. A telltale blush crept up his neck, flushing his cheeks, and he ducked his head in shame. Like it or not, he had initiated the contact, and so, there he stood, wishing with all his heart he was anywhere but Booker's apartment.

"Have a seat."

The friendly invitation jolted Tom back to reality, bringing an embarrassed smile to his lips. "Um, thanks," he muttered, and taking a quick look around the room, he settled on a worn, beige fabric, easy chair. Sitting down, he perched on the edge of the seat, his muscles rigid, his eyes focused on a spot on the floor just to the right of Booker's foot. Another awkward silence followed before Booker spoke, his voice light and teasing. "So, you wanna kiss me, huh? Interesting."

Tired of feeling like an ass, Tom leaped from his chair, his hands balling into angry fists. "Why do you always have to make a joke out of everything?" he snapped. "I came here because I need help, not so you can poke fun at me."

Regret softened Booker's eyes, and standing up, he approached the angry officer. "Sorry, I didn't mean to act like a prick. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it."

The genuine remorse in the officer's voice calmed Tom's rage, the release of anger leaving him depleted. His shoulders sagged, the utter despair radiating from his eyes revealing the depth of his tortured confusion. "I… I need..."

A rhythmic _Tom Tom Tom_ echoed inside Booker's head, the poetic mantra drumming in beat to the up-tempo pulse of his heart. He was hovering between hope and disappointment, the unfinished response hanging in the air, mocking him with its ambiguity. It was too much. He needed an answer, or he would forever be left wondering. "You need _what?"_ he asked in a soft, gentle voice.

"I need... I need to go," Tom replied in a rush of words, his body turning away.

Growing weary of the cat and mouse game Tom was playing with his emotions, Booker grasped the young officer's shoulders and spun him around. "Wait! Hanson, you can't keep running away from me every time you—"

"Every time I _what?"_ Tom cried, his hands shoving against Booker's chest. "Every time I want to _kiss_ you?"

It was the second time in less than five minutes Tom had mentioned kissing, and Booker wasn't about to let him off the hook again. "If you want to kiss me, then kiss me."

"I can't!"

The distressed hitch of Tom's voice triggered an intense emotional reaction in Booker. His friend was in pain, and being the impulsive, jump-straight-in kind of guy he was, he did what Tom was too afraid to do. Cupping the young officer's face in his hands, he pressed his lips against his quivering mouth, the soft, lingering kiss a chaste testament of his love. When a gentle hand grasped the back of his neck, pulling him closer, he tested the waters by slipping his tongue between Tom's lips, deepening the kiss. Their tongues met, dancing a slow, erotic tango, stroking, exploring, familiarizing through touch and taste. For Booker, his fevered daydreams were now 3D, surround sound reality, for Tom, the safe, heterosexual bubble he _thought_ was his existence was about to pop.

A soft moan resonated in the back of the young officer's throat, the desirous rumble vibrating into his mouth. It was a kiss unlike any other, the slow, gentle caress of Booker's lips awakening a deep, spiritual understanding in his heart. The key had turned, unlocking the truth. He had his answer and with it the knowledge his life would never be the same again.

Cold tendrils of panic wove through his chest, squeezing, tightening until he couldn't breathe, and jerking backward, he placed a trembling hand over his mouth, his chest rising and falling in short, shallow breaths. "Shit."

A mischievous grin curled Booker's lips. "I was thinking more like, _wow."_

With the ice now broken, Tom's face relaxed. "Yeah, okay. _Wow!"_ he conceded with a laugh.

Encouraged, Booker asked the burning question. "So, does that mean you wanna take this further?"

Tom's smile vanished, his expression once again serious. "I don't know."

A knock at the door interrupted their discussion, the long-forgotten pizza having finally arrived. "Stay," Booker requested in a low voice. "I've ordered pizza, and there's enough for two."

For Tom, what would have been an easy answer two days before was not so easy with the smoky essence of Booker's kiss lingering on his lips. But he hadn't come to the dark-haired officer's apartment to run away with his tail between his legs. And so, he ignored the warning _thud thud thud_ of his heart and gave his reply. "Okay."

 _To be continued…_


	2. Voulez Vous Coucher Avec Moi Ce Soir?

**Voulez Vous Coucher Avec Moi Ce Soir?**

"So when did you know?" Tom asked through a mouthful of pizza. With several beers under his belt and a stomach full of food, it hadn't taken him long to feel relaxed around the man who had thrown his life into turmoil. There were still many unanswered questions, and the most burning of those was when Booker knew he was bisexual.

It was the question Dennis most dreaded answering. Was it the exhilarating moment his classmate's lips touched his cock? Or was it after he'd ejaculated, when a warm, post-climactic afterglow had tingled through his sated body? In the seven years since his coming out, it was a question he had asked himself many times. But he had come to the conclusion it was almost impossible to define the exact moment he had felt an attraction to boys as well as girls. So, rather than relive the painful and somewhat humiliating story of his first homosexual encounter, he gave Tom a generic answer. "I think I always knew."

Tom paused mid-bite, the two lines between his brows deepening. Once again he wondered why _he_ had only developed feelings for the opposite sex at the age of twenty-four, and why did those feelings only apply to Booker? It was illogical, and he began to wonder if he was going through some sort of emotional crisis. But truth be told, he had never felt happier. He had a job he adored, friends he loved, and apart from a few issues with his mother, life was good. So why, all of a sudden, did he feel the need to disrupt his safe, peaceful life by falling in love with…

Whoa! His mind ground to an abrupt halt, the metaphoric squeal of brakes resonating inside his head. Love? Was he in _love_ with Booker? Had he _always_ been in love with Booker? Was their union predestined, or, without realizing it, had he given off subtle signals, encouraging the dark-haired officer through affectionate touches and flirtatious smiles to make the move _he_ was too repressed to make? Was he a prick tease without even _knowing_ he was a prick tease? These and a dozen other questions swirled around in his mind, adding to the confusion of his already addled brain. His life had always been so organized, but since his intimate interlude with another man, he found himself trapped within a whirlwind of emotional chaos, unsure how to proceed, yet wanting to experience the giddy heights of the illicit love now burning inside his soul.

"Tom?"

Tom's head snapped up, the forgotten slice of pizza still clutched in his hand. "Huh?"

The confused, pained expression on Tom's face was one Booker recognized all too well. It was a mirror image of his own contorted countenance during his high school years. It had taken him three years to come to terms with the varying shades of his sexuality, three long, torturous years of denial, secrets, and bullying. Then, in his senior year, he'd had an epiphany of sorts, and he came to the conclusion he didn't give a rat's ass _what_ others thought of him. But the damage was already done. Three years seemed like a lifetime in high school, and during that time, he had developed a cocky, _I don't give a damn_ attitude to deflect the pain. It was his security blanket, and even in his twenties, he still gave off the same _devil-may-care_ vibe that irked many of his coworkers. But scratch the surface of his conceited exterior and buried inside was a sensitive, loyal man; a man who would give his life for the one he loved. He was a contradiction, his personality an enigmatic conundrum that many found themselves drawn to but few could handle. He was both a lover and a fighter, self-righteous yet thoughtful, brash and insecure in equal measures. But in the end, none of that mattered. All he wanted was a partner who loved with the same intensity of devotion as he loved, and as he stared into the startled face in front of him, he wondered if that person might be Tom.

Gathering his thoughts, he smiled his slow, devilish smile. "Hey, man, don't overthink it. Feelings are just that, they're feelings. You can't switch 'em on, and you sure as hell can't switch 'em off."

The simple yet candid advice had a profound effect on Tom. Putting down his pizza, he stared off into space, his lips pursed in thoughtful contemplation as he rubbed a slow hand over his chin. It was true, there was no scientific evidence to explain the sexual attraction he felt, and he accepted that fact. But what he didn't understand was why he was feeling those desires for Booker. Up until that fateful day, they had never had what one would describe as a close relationship, in fact, they weren't even friends, they were just two people who worked together. It wasn't that he disliked Booker per se, it was more that he didn't trust him. During their first assignment, he had accused the dark-haired officer of racism and rape, but as it turned out, he was wrong on both counts. Judy Hoffs had set him straight, jumping to the dark-haired officer's defense, having spent the evening with him, thereby giving him an alibi. Though he had hated to admit it, at the time, even that piece of information had pissed Tom off, and he'd had a few choice words to say to Hoffs about her choice of date **.** But with his new-found interest in Booker, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd directed his jealousy at the wrong person. Maybe it wasn't Judy he felt a possessive desire to protect, but Booker, and if so, that would fit with his repressed homosexual feelings theory. But if not, then he was no further forward in working out what the hell was going on in his mind. He prided himself on his analytical thinking, but the unexpected intensity of his desires had him messed up. No matter which way he looked at it, none of it made sense. In fact, it made even less sense the more he thought about it, and that made him crazy.

Aware of Booker's watchful gaze, he managed a small smile. "I s'pose. It's just… Jesus, does it ever get any clearer in your head?"

"No," Booker replied with a laugh, his dark, attractive eyes sparkling with mischief. "But there comes a time when you just don't care. You are what you are, Hanson, and how you choose to live your life is up to you. No harm, no foul, right?"

"Right," Tom replied, an absent smile twitching the corner of his lips. Everything Booker said was true, but what he did with that information was up to him.

Wiping the crumbs from his lap, he stood up. "I should go."

Disappointment flashed in Booker's eyes, and rising to his feet, he tossed his pizza crust into the empty box on the coffee table. "It's early, stay a while."

The beseeching hitch in the dark-haired officer's voice sent a jolt of arousal down Tom's spine, and he took a moment to contemplate before answering. It was a simple situation, and he figured he had two choices. He could stay, have another drink (or two) and risk falling into bed with Booker. Or, he could play it safe, go home and wank off while _wishing_ he'd stayed, had another drink and fallen into bed with Booker. But despite the clanging of alarm bells ringing in his head, the answer was a no-brainer. While his job gave him the adrenaline rush most people spent a lifetime searching for, he wanted more, and spending time with the man who had somehow managed to infect his heart seemed like the perfect place to start.

Picking up his empty beer bottle, he handed it to Booker, a relaxed smile gracing his lips. "Sure, why not?"

 ** _Three hours later_**

Tom flopped back against the couch cushions. "This time… I _really_ should... go," he yawned, his eyelids drooping from a mixture of fatigue and too much alcohol. "We've got work t'morrow."

The corners of Booker's mouth curled into an amused grin and rising to his feet, he carried the empty pizza box into the kitchenette. "You're in no state to drive… _again._ I'll call you a cab."

"Or I could stay."

The four innocent words tumbled unchecked from between Tom's lips. But when he saw the shocked expression on Booker's face, he immediately wished he could take them back. For the second time in twenty-four hours, alcohol had impaired his decision making, and without meaning to, he had made a fool of himself yet again. He seemed to be making a habit of it whenever he was around the dark-haired officer, and he wondered if it was just nerves, or if he was morphing into a total jackass. It was a fifty-fifty toss up, but with his mind leaning toward the jackass theory, he ducked his head and wished with all his might that the floor would open up and swallow him whole, so he would not have to deal with the rejection he knew was coming.

Booker stood in the kitchen, the empty box still clutched in his hand. Tom's words had the power to change everything, and if he had been the rakish sonofabitch he pretended to be, he would have taken him up on his offer. But he didn't want his friend having regrets because he'd made a drunken decision at eleven o'clock at night, and so, even though his body screamed _yes, yes, yes,_ it didn't take long for his conscience to win the tug of war. "Okay, you can stay, but you have to sleep on the couch."

Surprise arched Tom's eyebrow, but he remained silent, his heart grateful for the compromise that spared him any further embarrassment. "Couch is good," he muttered, and picking up the empty beer bottles, he busied himself so he wouldn't have to look at Booker's bewildered face.

 ** _The following morning_**

An annoying _buzz, buzz, buzz,_ jolted Booker from a deep sleep, and with a groan, he rolled over and slammed his hand down on top of his digital clock, silencing the alarm. Forcing open his sleep-blurred eyes, he exhaled a weary sigh. It had taken hours of restless tossing and turning before the alcohol flowing through his system had done its job, and he had drifted off to sleep, the tantalizing knowledge Tom was lying only a few feet away, accessible yet off limits, haunting his troubled dreams. While he stood by his decision not to take the young officer into his bed, he had agonized over why he was acting so protective. Given the amount he'd had to drink, he was certain, under different circumstances, he would have fallen into the arms of any other willing partner without a second thought. But Tom was different. Without seeming to know it, the young officer gave off a strange air of vulnerability, and while Booker knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself, there was a deep-rooted sensitivity hidden just beneath the surface of his competent exterior. It was an endearing quality, and one of the many aspects of Tom's personality Booker found irresistible. He had spent many a long evening imagining his lips trailing a line of tender, butterfly kisses over the young officer's naked torso. Not that he would ever admit it, he was far too masculine to reveal his softer side, at least until he was sure Hanson wouldn't laugh at him for being such a romantic fool. That was his secret shame, and there were few people who could say, with any degree of honesty, they knew his true, uncensored self, not even his parents. But he had a feeling his relationship with Tom would be different, if, of course, it ever evolved into the full-blown love affair he had dreamed about since their first, fateful meeting.

With thoughts of Tom once again occupying his mind, he pushed down his boxers and caressed his semi-hard cock, the light, feathery strokes sending ripples of arousal through his lengthening shaft. Closing his eyes, he envisioned Tom's long fingers touching him, teasing him toward orgasm, and an excited moan escaped his lips. One day he hoped to experience the real thing, but for now, he had to make do with his imagination. His hand moved faster, twisting and tugging over his erection, the variance of motion heightening his pleasure, while the uneven pressure of his skilled hand drew him closer to his release. Scattered visions of Tom's face raced through his mind, the images of the young officer, head thrown back, lips parted in carnal delight, pushing him ever closer to his goal. The rhythm of his breathing changed, hitching loudly in his throat, and with each, tender stroke, he could feel the crest of the erotic wave rising to a dizzying height. With one, final, titillating tug, he reached his peak, and a surge of emotion crashed through his body, splattering warm semen over his stomach.

Ragged pants echoed throughout the room, the force of his ejaculation sending ripples of pleasure up and down the length of Booker's spine. But as the post-climactic afterglow waned from his body, a discernable chill took its place. The magical effect Tom had on him was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, but the nagging voice inside his head whispered a different story. It told him he was stupid to get involved with someone who wasn't sure of their sexuality, and in his heart, he knew he was setting himself up for a fall. But he pushed the unwanted thought from his mind and concentrated on the last of the satisfying sensations tingling through his limbs. Life was all about taking risks, and even if his and Tom's relationship was doomed from the start, he knew whatever heartache he endured would be worth it.


End file.
